Well, I got the dreaded 8am call from my pulmonary specialist, and I inherited two genetic maladies. Emphysema and COPD. One was very serious, but I don’t remember which one. Being the google maven I am, I did my research, and the prognosis isn’t good. I had smugly thought I had aced the test. So, some very expensive meds are ordered, but with insurance, they will only be about $45 a month, and that is hardly bankrupting.
Years ago, I had speed read a book called First You Cry by Betty Rollin about her reaction to that sort of call informing her of a malignant breast tumor. I didn’t cry, but I did take a few deep calming breaths, and realized I didn’t have to do all the preparations today. There is time to exercise, to dream, to read, to solidify family connections and to prepare Snookums. I think I have at least one good summer left in me, and I am going to make it a good one.
But I do need a plan, an outline if you will. Papers must be notarized, codicils written, useless items given away/sold/junked. I will simplify my life to better tend to the important things. My eyes are good, my energy is enough to run errands, my mind is sharp enough to write. I have a hoarding instinct, though by comparisons to others, a very mild case. But I don’t think I am going to need new stuff. Stuff has suddenly lost its hold on me.
I fret most about Snookums. It is like deserting her at a time she needs me most. So much to do in that area.
I am putting fiction on the back burner and avoiding “coffee” posts if they are too mawkish. It is a time of introspection and not regret.
That part is odd. It is true that God shows old men more of his mind than he does young men. When I was young, it was my ability or lack of ability to follow his rules. Today, I just want to watch him and marvel, and I don’t care whether I follow a rule or not. At this stage in life I am not likely to get in too much trouble by just drifting along.
So that is the update. I don’t know where these little missives will go at this point. I do want to chronicle this adventure, but I want to stay positive and upbeat. I do not fear death, but I am not overly fond of dying. Keep in mind that the prognosis is about five years out, and even then, the odds are still six out of ten that I’ll make it past five. Being a gambler, those aren’t such terrible odds if you already have a pile of chips in front of you. And boy! Do I have a pile of chips!